a million billion trillion stars
by periwinkled
Summary: A small series about Bel and Freddie beginning just after 2x06. Based around the poetry of e. e. cummings. "There...you are." Bel crouched even lower to catch his words. "My...girl." "Yes," she said, "I am."
1. a man who had fallen among thieves

_The Hour _and its lovely characters do not belong to me. I just move them about sometimes, with my mind.

* * *

"_a man who had fallen among thieves_

_lay by the roadside on his back_

_dressed in fifteenthrate ideas"_

The verse rang through Bel's head as she crossed the impossible distance between the door and the park just outside Lime Grove Studios. There was a small crowd gathered around the figure lying prone on the ground. She could see his hand, then his arm, and _oh, the blood, oh Freddie no_.

"What did he say?"

"It sounded like...'Moneypenny?'"

"No!" Bel gasped as she shoved the man speaking aside. Her eyes flew over Freddie, desperate to take in the damage. It was too much, surely it was too much for one man to take. She fell to her knees and leaned forward. She vaguely heard someone speaking to her, but they were far away and she just needed to know that he was breathing.

She reached for his hand, but pulled back. Was there a part of him that wasn't broken? "Freddie," she said, and her voice seemed loud and harsh to her own ears. "Freddie, please. _Please._"

There! Had his chest moved? "Money...penny?"

"_James!"_ Without thinking, Bel reached for his hand again and gripped it. If it caused him pain, he gave no indication. He barely moved at all, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. "If you-" she couldn't say the word. "Don't you dare, Freddie. Don't you _dare_."

His eye twitched, the one that wasn't swollen shut, and she realized that he probably couldn't see her. She levered herself up so she was looking down on him.

"There...you are." Bel crouched even lower to catch his words. "My...girl."

"Yes," she said, "I am. Freddie-" Bel wasn't sure what she'd been about to say, but it was cut off by the hands pulling her back, away from Freddie. "No!"

"Bel. The ambulance is here. Bel, they need to take him to hospital." It was Lix, her hands firm on Bel's arms.

Bel looked up and found that the whole of the studio surrounded them. A hand entered her field of vision and she glanced at Hector. He said nothing, merely helped her to her feet when she placed her hand in his. Marnie stood just behind him, her arms wrapped around her midsection, her eyes full of pity.

"Here, Miss Rowley." Sissy pressed a handkerchief into Bel's other hand, but Bel couldn't look away from Freddie. The medics were putting him on a stretcher, and he was so still. His eyes were closed, both of them, and she stared at his chest, but it wasn't moving. She couldn't tell, she couldn't see...

"Bel." Lix, who was still gripping her, gave her shoulders a single shake. Bel realised she'd been repeating the word "No" in a low voice. She pressed the handkerchief to her face and found it wet with tears.

They were loading him into the ambulance. Bel's knees started shaking and she was afraid she might collapse. "Lix."

"Yes." Lix shifted to Bel's side, putting an arm supportively around her. "Get your things, and we'll follow in my car."

"Get my _things-"_ Bel echoed. Had anything ever been so unimportant?

"I'll get them," Sissy volunteered, just as Hector said "I'll drive."

"That's fine," Lix said, apparently to them both.

Soon, reunited with her coat and bag, Bel impatiently slid into the back seat of Hector's car. She'd been just there the night before, and how long ago that seemed! "Does anyone know where they've taken him?"

"Hammersmith," Hector replied.

"Just round the corner," Marnie added, in the tone of one who is trying and failing to sound cheerful.

It was a bit further than that, but Bel held her tongue. They'd be too late, and Freddie would be dead. Freddie would be dead, and Bel would...Bel couldn't think what she'd do. Work, she supposed. She'd live a lifetime of news and no Freddie and then she'd die.

"Stop thinking." Bel glanced at Lix, seated against the opposite window. "Whatever it is you're thinking. No good can come of it."

Sissy, sitting between them, reached out to take Bel's hand. "Sey says he's seen patients on the very brink o' death turn round and thought it had to be the hopes and prayers o' their loved ones that did it."

But all Bel could think was _"i put him all into my arms and staggered banged with terror through a million billion trillion stars."_

* * *

__"a man who had fallen among thieves" is a poem by e. e. cummings. After Freddie quoted cummings to Bel in Series 1, I dug out my volume of his work and dove into it. I kept finding verses that made me think of Freddie and Bel, and came across these (both from the same poem) after watching 2x06 last night. This is-tentatively-a little series about their relationship based around cummings' verses. And worry not-cummings wrote some sexy things.


	2. for life's not a paragraph

_The Hour _and its lovely characters do not belong to me. I just move them about sometimes, with my mind.

* * *

Bel stood in her quiet flat, feeling empty. She stared in the general direction of the kitchen, unmoving. Her arm went limp of a sudden, and her stylish red jacket fell to the floor. What was she here to do?

Oh. Oh, yes. The jacket's matching skirt was crusted with dirt and grass stains. Her hands were still smudged with blood.

"onto_a man who had fallen among thieves lay by the roadside on his back"_

Freddie. She had left Freddie. Bel gathered up her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She opened her tiny closet, quickly undressed, then tossed skirt, blouse, slip, and stockings after the jacket into the hamper. She'd deal with them later, when seeing each small stain upon them didn't bring forth the urge to scream.

She scrubbed at her hands and arms, using nearly half a bar of soap before moving onto her shins. The mud had bled through her stockings. How long had she stayed by him? It had seemed like so short a time, yet her skin was brown and red and angry.

She'd left him at the hospital. X-rays had revealed a severely broken leg, arm, and several cracked ribs. They thought there was likely internal damage, but didn't know how much. Freddie was in surgery now, and there was nothing she could do. Nothing but wait and worry and think the worst, over and over again. Hector had promised to wait, just in case, but had sent her home with Marnie. She was to take a bath, have a drink, and try to sleep.

Wrapped in her robe, Bel wandered into the living room. She should do all of those things, she knew. Being sad and useless would help no one, least of all Freddie. Her brain replayed the moments when she'd knelt beside him and looked into his one good eye. "My girl," he'd called her.

Had she ever been anyone but Freddie's girl?

Her own, of course, she'd always been her own. But she'd been Freddie's, too. Whether he survived the night or not, she'd be Freddie's until the day she died.

She found herself facing her bookshelf, reaching for the slim volume of poetry he'd given her years and years ago. She flipped pages until she found poem number 22, the one that had come to her that evening, which she hadn't realized she'd remembered until she saw him laid out and bloody.

"_dressed in fifteenthrate ideas" _Oh, how he'd object to that. "Fifteenthrate ideas," indeed. Bel sat on the sofa and let the book fall open in her palms. She'd never really embraced poetry the way Freddie had. She liked e. e. cummings well enough, but would likely had never bought a book on her own. Now it felt like a lifeline.

"_Death, Thee i call rich beyond wishing if this thou catch, else missing."_

Enough. If she was just going to sit and sigh, she might as well do it at the hospital. Bel called a cab, then threw on trousers and a sweater. She pulled the pins out of her hair and tugged a brush through it. It would have to do. She opened the door, then went back for the book of poems. If nothing else, it would give her something to dwell on while she waited.

* * *

"You're still here."

Hector looked blearily up at her. "I sent you home."

"I came back."

"Yes."

They were both exhausted, and their conversation reflected it.

"You can go, if you'd like. I'll stay, and call if they tell me anything."

Hector was shaking his head before she'd finished speaking. "I'll stay."

Bel sat. "Have they said anything?"

"No. But no one's come by for awhile, either."

"Hector. You are the face of _The Hour_. Go flash that smile at some unsuspecting nurse and see what she knows."

He started to stand.

"No need, Mr. Madden." Randall Brown appeared on Bel's other side. Both she and Hector came to their feet. "I just spoke with Mr. Lyon's surgeon. They're moving him to a room now."

"But he'll be alright?" Bel asked.

"He's alive. According to the surgeon, his spleen was ruptured, which likely would have killed him if he hadn't been brought in so quickly. Cilenti's need to flaunt his power likely saved Freddie's life. It looked as if he'd been kicked. Repeatedly."

"Bastard," Hector growled to Bel's right.

Bel shook her head impatiently. "What aren't you telling us?"

"The main concern is his head. Mr. Lyon has a concussion, and with the trauma surrounding it, they're not sure exactly how much damage his brain suffered. There will probably be swelling, and possibly bleeding, as well. At this point, they're not sure what his condition will be when he wakes."

He didn't say it, but "if he wakes" was in the air and they all heard it. All told, it was the longest speech Bel had ever heard Randall deliver, in that crisp, oddly accented voice. It was terrible, terrible, and yet somehow manageable. It wasn't over yet. Freddie was breathing still, and he'd spoken to her, he had! Surely that was a good sign.

Bel didn't realize she'd swayed until Hector caught her. They retook their seats. Randall stayed standing, and Lix walked up.

"I needed the air," she offered in explanation. Presumably she'd already heard the news. Apparently she'd never left, either, and Bel suddenly felt wretched for having gone.

"Will we be able to see him?" Bel asked.

Lix spoke up. "Not until tomorrow, I'm afraid. They have him under close supervision tonight."

"Go home, Miss Rowley, Mr. Madden," Randall commanded.

This time, Hector nodded wearily, but Bel couldn't think of it. Lix seemed to read her mind. "The studio is closer."

Randall dropped them both off there. Lix strode off to her office to sleep, but Bel hovered uncertainly in the hall. Eventually, she went to her desk. Her unsent letter to Freddie lay where she'd dropped it, hours before. She picked it up, folded it carefully, and slid it into the book of poetry she still carried. She drifted back out into the hall, then into the next room.

A shaft of light from a nearby street lamp shone through the windows, illuminating Freddie's desk. Bel laid the book she held atop it, then sat down. At first, she just surveyed it. The untidy stacks of papers, the typewriter sitting with its carriage half-off the base. She opened a drawer. Bel had no real intention of snooping. As with the book of poems, she simply wanted to feel closer to Freddie. The contents of the drawer were no neater than the desk surface, and she was about to close it when she spotted the book.

_Casino Royale_, she realized as she drew it out. The same battered copy he'd always had. Bel felt herself smiling. "Oh, you foolish man." She flipped the pages idly, and her thumb caught on something. A photograph. One of them, of Freddie and Bel. She remembered it being taking vaguely, so long ago. She was looking off to her right, and Freddie...Freddie was looking down at her.

How long had he looked at her like that without her realizing it? How long had she been in love with her best friend and ignored it, frightened of change?

What a coward she'd been! And then she cried, really cried, and searched his drawers in vain for a handkerchief. Eventually, she laid her head on her arms and let her tears soak his stacks of scrawled notes, until she was too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.

"_we are for each other: then_

_laugh, leaning back in my arms_

_for life's not a paragraph_

_And death i think is no parenthesis"_

* * *

_A/N:  
_Bel's book of cummings is the same one I have, _100 selected poems_. My copy dates from 1959, but it's been reissued repeatedly since 1926, so I've decided it's entirely possible that Freddie might have picked it up and given it to Bel at some point in their friendship. The new verses in this chapter come from "Thy fingers make early flowers of all things" and "since feeling is first" (numbers 1 and 28 in my and Bel's book).

I admit to being largely ignorant of the state of internal medicine in the late 50s in Britain, so forgive me if I've gotten anything wrong. Hammersmith Hospital has been around since 1912 and though it's small, today accommodates emergency patients, so I assumed to might also have in '57. My limited resources showed it to be nearest the old Lime Grove Studios, but please correct me if I'm wrong.

This is the only chapter with a wholly unconscious Freddie, I promise.


	3. the bulge and nuzzle of the sea

_The Hour _and its lovely characters do not belong to me. I just move them about sometimes, with my mind.

* * *

Freddie was vaguely surprised to find himself alive. Not unpleasantly surprised, mind you, but surprised nonetheless. The rage he'd seen in Cilenti's eyes had convinced him that the man would not stop until he was dead. He mulled on it, turning the matter over and over in his head, as he lay prone in a drab, sterile room, suspended somewhere between pain and oblivion.

Hours later, Sissy and Sey dropped by. They filled in some of the gaps, informing him that he'd been dumped outside the studio and fortunately found before he could expire. Sey looked him over with a critical eye, but seemed to think his chances were good. Apparently waking up had been half the battle. Sissy settled a cheerful pot of flowers on the table to his right, which was when he noticed the book. He tried to speak, but found it was still beyond him.

Sissy noticed his dilemma. "Are you askin' for this, Mr. Lyon?" She lifted the book so he could see its cover.

_Casino Royale_. The very copy he kept in his desk, if he wasn't mistaken. She'd been here, then, and wanted him to know she'd be back.

That was good.

And then he faded, little by little, until there was only oblivion.

* * *

He was sleeping when Bel arrived. She knew he'd been awake earlier when Sissy had stopped by. She'd told Bel he'd seen the book. It was propped up against the vase holding Sissy's flowers now.

Bel settled herself in a chair and pulled out the transcripts she'd brought along to look over. If Freddie woke again, she wanted to be there.

She worked her way through all of her transcripts, left to call Mr. Wengrow with instructions and to hunt up some supper, and returned to find him still sleeping. She very much hoped it was simply sleep, but was determined not to think otherwise. Done with work but unwilling to leave, Bel pulled out the book of poems she still carried and settled in to read.

"_when god lets my body be"_

She hadn't gotten very far in when a small sound had her head whipping up. There he was. He looked half-asleep yet, but his good eye was open (and she'd been sure to situate herself on its side this time), and oh, it was Freddie. He looked at her and she could see the mind behind the hazel eye and knew he was all there.

He looked from the copy of _Casino Royale_ back to her, and she nodded. "I thought you'd like to have something of home here. I put the photo of your dad from the office inside, and there's the one of-of us, too. I can put them up somewhere, if you'd like."

He gave a tiny shake of his head and tried to lift his arm. This caused an immediate and sharp intake of air, and if he'd been hazy before she could tell that this had woken him up. He'd tried to move his right arm, and it was broken. Bel reached out to take his hand, which she'd been assured was unharmed. She gripped it as tightly as she dared, and he squeezed back, just once.

"Had to be the hero, didn't you, James?"

His lips twitched.

"Have they told you what happened?"

Freddie blinked once, slowly, which Bel took as a yes.

"Good. That's good. It's not going to be an easy recovery, and the doctor said you might have to use a cane, maybe for a long time. But you're _alive_, Freddie. Besides, I think canes are rather distinguished." She chuckled, trying for cheerful, but her laugh sounded forced to her own ears. "You'd like looking distinguished, wouldn't you?"

He made a sound, and Bel leaned forward to catch it. _"Bel."_

"Yes." She felt her eyes filling, just at the soft, harsh sound of his voice.

"_It will...be. Okay."_

"I know. But you frightened us, Freddie. You frightened me."

He opened his mouth again and she scooted forward on her seat. The book of poems, which had been on her lap, hit the ground with a _thwack._ Bel leaned down to pick it up. Freddie raised an eyebrow.

"You'll think I'm daft. It's the book of e. e. cummings you gave me. I've been carting it around because...because I don't know why."

He looked significantly back at _Casino Royale_. _"Took that...all the way...to San Francisco," _he managed.

"Oh Freddie, you didn't." He gave the little nodding blink. "I did write you, you know. A maudlin little letter. I never sent it, of course. I was too much of a coward. It's inside the book, with the photos."

"_Read," _he said. Bel felt herself blush, and immediately felt foolish for it.

"Alright." She opened the book, set the photographs aside, and began to unfold the letter. Just then, a nurse came in. She chattered brightly, commenting how pleased she was to see Mr. Lyon awake and how wonderful _The Hour_ had been and wasn't he a brave one? Miss Delane had been speaking to the press, it seemed.

Bel quietly folded the letter away. She propped the book back up against the vase and leaned the photographs against it so Freddie could see them. She busied herself with the cummings book while the nurse finished her checks.

"_Read," _Freddie said again, once the other woman had left.

Bel reached for the Fleming book, but Freddie shook his head. "Oh, the poetry? Alright. It's a little morbid, actually, but I've found myself drawn to the ones about death."

"'_when god lets my body be,'" _Freddie said.

"Yes." Bel opened the book to the corresponding page. "'when god lets my body be From each brave eye shall sprout a tree.' I like how this one ends, actually." She skipped ahead. "'and all the while shall my heart be With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea.'"

Bel reached out to retake his hand. "I am very glad you're not dead, Freddie."

"_I rather am, too," _he said.

* * *

_A/N  
"when got lets my body be" _is the only poem in this chapter. It's number 3 in my book and Bel's. And here we leave the hospital happily behind.

Thanks so much for the feedback this little tale has already garnered. I love to hear from all of you!


	4. somewhere i have never travelled

_The Hour _and its lovely characters do not belong to me. I just move them about sometimes, with my mind.

* * *

It was odd, thought Bel, to be climbing the stairs to Freddie's flat and knowing that only he awaited her. No sweet, confused father to act as a buffer or beautiful French wife to maneuver around. There was only Freddie, and Bel, in this odd new world of Freddie and Bel.

She realized she'd paused on the landing, caught in her thoughts, and continued upwards. She raised her hand to knock, remembered Freddie's limited mobility, and tried the knob instead. It was open.

"Hello?"

"Back here." Bel followed Freddie's voice through the sitting room and found him sitting up in bed in a mostly empty room. When his father had been alive, they had lived in the lower units and rented this one out. Bel had never been in this room before.

"It's certainly...roomy." There was a table by the door with a telephone sitting on it, a beat-up dresser, and an old brass bed. A pair of crutches were leaned against the headboard. Nothing hung on the walls.

"The bed's new, actually. Sey found it somewhere after lecturing me about managing a mattress on the ground with two broken limbs. He and a friend brought it by this afternoon. I probably owe him money," Freddie added in an afterthought.

"Dr. Ola is certainly proving to be a helpful neighbor to have." Bel had moved into the room, discarding her coat and satchel and handing Freddie the fish chips she'd brought him for dinner.

"Yes, I am taking full advantage of having my own private doctor just downstairs." Freddie munched on a chip. "How was the week?"

"Fairly short on chaos. The Lewisham crash has given Isaac something to focus on." Bel considered fetching a chair from the other room, but decided that seemed silly. It was only Freddie, after all. Only Freddie. She sat gingerly on the edge of his bed instead. "How goes the recovery?"

"I don't understand why anyone allows themselves to be injured. It's terrible and I hate it."

"So, swimmingly, then."

He scowled at her.

"Can I bring you anything tomorrow?"

Freddie looked at her alertly. "Tomorrow? You're not leaving?"

Bel shifted her shoulders. "I..."

"You can't leave! _The Sky at Night_ is coming on, stay and watch."

"Since when do you care about astronomy?"

"Since caring about it was the _only bloody thing to do. _Now help me to the sofa, Moneypenny." He reached for his crutches with his good arm.

"Uh-uh." Bel stood and stepped out of reach. "That name is only acceptable-_barely-_-when it's not attached to a command."

"Or I'm dying. From wounds earned from being a hero. A news hero."

Bel bit back a smile. "Thin ice, James." But she helped him lever himself out of the bed and onto the crutches. With his broken arm, he could really only use one crutch, and his progress across the flat was excruciatingly slow, a fact when she knew would be driving Freddie mad. She went ahead to switch on the set.

The first strains of "At the Castle Gate" began, with the set showing stars viewed through a window. Bel sat at the far end of the sofa so that Freddie wouldn't have as far to go. "It'll just be more about the American satellite, you know."

Freddie hobbled into the doorway. "You don't know that." He tossed one crutch towards the couch, which Bel caught and laid at her feet. "He might talk about the _moon_."

"You're ridiculous. I wonder how long the network imagines there will even be an audience for this sort of thing."

"Hmm," Freddie made an assenting noise as he settled himself on the sofa and tossed his second crutch after the first in disgust. "Eventually someone will conquer the moon and we'll all move on with our lives."

"Good Evening," Patrick Moore spoke from the television set. "The American attempt at an artificial satellite, the Vanguard TV3, only rose about a meter into the air before crashing back to Earth this week."

"There, you see?" Bel spoke over the set.

"It is the biggest news in space," Freddie pointed out. "Oh, blast. My chips." He looked at Bel imploringly. "Could you...?"

"Yes, yes, alright."

Bel returned to the sitting room, chips in hand, just in time to hear Moore announce "The moon is full and bright this evening."

"Ha!" Freddie lifted his good arm in triumph. Bel laid the package of chips on it as she passed. "The _moon_."

They watched the program in companionable silence, Bel occasionally reaching over the steal a chip. When the food was gone, Freddie reached over to take her hand, instead. She allowed it, but she felt stiff and odd and knew that Freddie could tell.

"Bel."

She heaved a sigh and turned to face him fully on the sofa, dropping his hand. His leg made it impossible for him to do the same, but he turned his torso carefully towards her. She knew the broken ribs were still healing, as well as the incision from his surgery.

"This was always going to be easier for you than me, Freddie."

He seemed to consider that. "Would it help if we talked?"

Bel recalled his earlier declaration that they did too much talking, and while it was right in that moment, she thought this was right for this one. She nodded.

"Do you still have the book of poems?"

She shook her head ruefully. "It's back on the shelf at home."

"No matter. Let's see..." He closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall behind the sofa.

"_somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond_

_any experience,your eyes have their silence:_

_in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,_

_or which i cannot touch because they are too near"_

"I remember that one."

Freddie opened his eyes. "I thought you might."

"Is it the same poem-?"

"Yes. '_i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands.'"_ This time he kept his eyes open and fully on hers. Bel didn't look away, but reached for his hand.

"The rest of it is filled with talk about her 'fragility,' which isn't right for you, of course. You're the strongest person I know."

"I haven't felt strong of late. Afraid and unsure, but not strong. What if we do this and it ruins everything?"

"Do you honestly think that it will?"

"It might!"

"Do you trust me, Bel?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously.

"I'm serious."

"I know. I do trust you."

"Then let me be strong for you in this, at least right now. You'll pick it up."

She cleared her throat delicately. "Have you heard from Camille? I tried to get in touch with her when you were in hospital, but didn't know where to look."

Freddie continued looking her in the eye, a fact which gratified her. "Yes. Today, actually."

"Oh?"

"She's seeking an annulment. I've signed the papers, and will put them in the post tomorrow."

"So that's it, then? It's over?"

Now he did look away. "Camille and I...we were both running away from things. We used one another a bit, I'm afraid. I more than she. I'm not proud of it, Bel."

"Yes, well..." she waited until he'd met her eyes again. "I can relate."

His hand tightened on hers. "Are you truly going back to your flat tonight?"

Bel looked around. "I suppose I could stay on the sofa."

"Don't be ridiculous. We can share the bed."

Bel simply looked at him.

"Come now, your virtue is safe. Does it look like I'm in any condition to-to-" he sputtered a moment, then waved a hand over his bruised and broken self "put the moves on you?"

"I suppose my virtue-such as it is-will be relatively safe with you."

"Thank you." Freddie sounded disgruntled despite his victory, and Bel laughed.

"Do you need help getting up?"

He scowled at his broken leg. "Most likely."

He was soon up and hobbling back across the flat. "Feel free to use the bath. It's just there," he paused to gesture with a crutch.

"Thank you."

* * *

Freddie looked up when Bel walked into the bedroom. She was flushed from her bath, wearing his robe, and carrying a towel. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to rub the towel over her hair.

Freddie swallowed a moan. This was a terrible idea. Whose idea had this been? Oh, yes, of course. His.

"Just-" his voice sounded high-almost a squeak-and he cleared his throat and tried again. "Just make yourself comfortable."

Bel tossed the towel away and pulled the cover over her legs, apparently content to sleep in the robe.

Hell.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Freddie?" Bel's smile belied her concerned tone.

"You are, as you well know." She blinked, and he thought he'd surprised her with his candor. Too bad. She was going to have to get used to candor of that sort. He reached out with his good arm, awkwardly. It was his left, and even propped up on pillows, he couldn't really turn to face her.

She caught his hand and brought it to the side of her face. He rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. Yes. This was torture.

"'_i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing,'" _he quoted.

Bel smiled, her lips moving under his thumb. "Oh, are we moving on to the dirty poems now?"

"It's all fair game, Moneypenny."

Bel pressed a kiss to his palm, then sat up. She smiled at his perplexed expression. "I'm just switching off the light."

In the dark, he felt the mattress depress. Beneath the cover, her hand found his again. It was still there when he fell asleep.

* * *

_A/N_

Chapters will be longer now that Freddie can speak using full sentences again. _The Hour_ doesn't really give us actual dates, so I tried to calculate using the Wolfenden Report (4 September '57) and Lix's comment about the "dead dog circling our heads" (Sputnik 2 launched 3 November '57, with Laika thought dead 6 days later). As a result, this chapter takes place mid-December 1957. The Lewisham rail crash occurred on December 4th, with 90 fatalities and over a hundred hospitalized. It was big news on the homefront. And I couldn't help including Sir Patrick Moore, as _The Sky at Night_ premiered in April 1957, and has, in fact, stuck around (Moore passed away this past December after 55 years on the air).

Poems: the return of "somewhere i have never traveled," number 35 in Bel's and my book, and our first sexy poem, "i like my body when it is with your body," number 14. It's a good one. We'll probably see it again._  
_


End file.
